


8 years

by Danagirl623



Series: Parentlock [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:31:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14427492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623





	8 years

On thursdays, Dr. John Watson took his lunch from 13:15 to 14:30. Typically he would leave a lecture and meet his husband just outside his office. They would retire to the office for the next hour or so. Perhaps they discuss a case or perhaps they had more carnal matters to handle.  
Today however, they went quickly to their business then lounged around talking, idly picking at their meals. A flurry of text messages from Lestrade broke up the peaceful lunch. “A nine!” Sherlock decided. “I’m going, John.”  
“Ok, my love! Have fun!” John smiled at him. “It was lovely to have you.”  
“I’m not leaving yet.” Sherlock looked his husband over hungrily. “You must have all the med students hearts. You are gorgeous and smart.”  
“Hush, now.” John instructed. “Tell me about the case.”  
“Nice try at distraction.” He sat back and grinned at his husband. Suddenly his entire body language changed. “Oh damn. Rosie!” He dialed Mrs. Husdon’s number only to reach voicemail.  
“She’s at her sister’s.” John said, with a smirk.  
Sherlock started to text Molly when the word “conference” came to mind. “Can’t you leave early?”  
“No, my love.” John smiled, seeing the only solution before Sherlock did.  
“You are a miserable man, John Hamish Watson.” Sherlock declared. He took a deep deep breath before he dialed the number. “Mycroft.” he greeted, trying to sound polite.  
“Brother mine to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
“My daughter needs you.”  
“Rosamund?”  
“The very one.” Sherlock said, through gritted teeth.  
“What assistance could I offer a child?” He asked, haughtily.  
“Pick her up after school and watch her for an hour or two until” here, Sherlock placed a wicked smile on his face. “My husband or I get home.”  
“Good lord!” He exclaimed. “Is she house broken?”  
“She’s eight years old. Yes of course she is.” Sherlock said, somewhat sharper than necessary. “Regardless, you handled me quite-”  
“Hardly.” Mycroft said. “What time?”  
“I’ll text you the schedule.” Sherlock paused a minute “How is your violin, dear brother?”  
“My violin?”  
“Thursdays after school are lessons.”  
“Passable.”  
“Bring your violin. Do not touch mine.” Sherlock requested.  
“Anything else?”  
John shot Sherlock a look, then mouthed. “Dinner.”  
“John would like to invite you for dinner tonight.” Sherlock threw his husband to the wolves. Ha! That’ll teach him to invite Mycroft to dinner.  
“Thank you, Dr. Watson. That is most kind. I gladly accept.” Mycroft smirked knowing that Sherlock was unhappy about that. “I eagerly anticipate your text, brother mine.” he said before disconnecting the telephone call. Sherlock stared at John with disdain.  
“Dinner? You cock. You knew he’d accept!”  
John roared with laughter. “I told you he’s lonely.”  
“I hate you.”  
“No you don’t, Mr. Holmes.” John grinned, leaning across his desk for a kiss. Sherlock pouted, but kissed him anyway. “Do leave the door open on your way out.” John said primly trying to sound like Mycroft.  
“Your majesty!” Sherlock curtsied before leaving.  
“Love you, Sherl!” John called.  
“Me too, you idiot.” Sherlock replied. He text Mycroft the schedule for the afternoon and then a message to Lestrade.

At 15:03 precisely, Rosie Watson walked out of her school. She found her uncle before he saw her. She approached him. He was tall like papa, but chubby and carried an umbrella. “Hello, Uncle Myc.” she said, pleasantly. “What’s the passcode?”  
He looked her over. She was a mini John in appearance, but a mini Sherlock in attitude and dress. She held an ancient cell phone in her hands and look at him expectedly. “Good Queen Bess.”  
“It is you, then.” She didn’t smile, she looked at him quizzically. “Three questions before we proceed: 1. Why do you hate my dad? 2. Why do you make plans with us than cancel? 3. Do you really store your umbrella in your bum?” She tucked her phone in her jacket pocket.  
“Let’s get in the car and we can talk.”  
“No, Uncle Myc. Today is Thursday. We walk today.”  
“I’m going to sweat.” Mycroft complained.  
“I’m sorry dear chap, but the schedule must be observed. We can talk and walk.” She allowed, slipping her hand into his. She pulled him away from the car.  
“Why are you holding my hand?”  
“It’s a rule.” She huffed, rolling her eyes at him. She navigated the crowded streets.  
“Are we going the correct way?”  
“To Baker Street? Eventually.” She led him to Angelo’s restaurant. “We have to order dinner, before we get home. Do you know what you want?”  
“I do not.” He said, looking over the grimy building. She sighed impatiently. “I guess while you decide I’ll go round back and see my pup. She pulled him into the restaurant. She slipped her hand out of his and ran back through to the kitchen to her dog.  
“Oi! Who are you?” A rough, greasy dark featured man asked. “Why are you holding Ms. Watson’s hand? Have you kidnapped her?”  
Mycroft stared at him, with open disdain. “I am Mycroft Holmes and this afternoon, I am monitoring Ms. Watson until Sherlock gets home.”  
“You’re related to the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Owe him and Dr. my life. Then you’re alright. What will you have for dinner?”  
“What do you suggest?” He asked, politely while trying not to touch anything.  
“I’ll make you something good.” Rosie ran out from the back and slammed into the man.  
“Hello, Mr. Angelo!” She grinned, hugging him.  
“Hello my angel. How was your Maths test?”  
“Child’s play!” She dismissed. “I turned in my solar system. Dad helped me with that.”  
“Dr. Watson did?”  
“Apparently Papa deleted the solar system, but I know it for him.”  
“How’s your pup?”  
“Getting big! You’re doing a great job fostering him until Dad says I can have him. Alright, we need to get going. I want to see my flute friend before we get home.”  
“Spaghetti tonight?”  
“3 meatballs please!”  
“You got it. Any headway on the storage question?”  
“Waiting for response.” She grabbed Mycroft’s hand and pulled him out to the noisy street. She walked him down the road and turned towards home. “Hurry, Uncle Myc!” She said, excitedly. “He’s here!” She pulled him to the corner and dashed across the road. Her uncle tired to keep up, but was struggling.  
Rosie pulled short in front of a man playing the flute on the street corner. “Hello, sir!” It’s your friend, Rosie.” She grinned, as she heard him start to play her song. “I can’t stay long, because my Uncle Myc walks slow.” the tune changed to a plodding one. Rosie laughed. “Exactly like an elephant. Aced my maths test.” A triumphant flourish played. She tugged on Mycroft’s hand. “Yes I know. Too short today, but Papa’s got a case. A nine, he thinks. Once he tells me I’ll fill you in.” Rosie glanced at Mycroft. “I need money.” She said… in latin! Mycroft laughed and dug some out. The music had been thrilling, but turned suspicious. “Yes, I know you hate when I talk Latin.” Rosie took the five pound and tucked it in her friends pocket. “Good day, sir. Thank you for chatting!” He played his traditional goodbye tune.  
Rosie pulled Mycroft towards Baker Street. She fumbled with the lock and once able, threw the door open. She glanced at Papa’s office door. It was dark. “Come on Uncle Myc.”  
“You speak Latin?”  
“No questions answered until you answer mine.”  
Rosie ran up the stairs, and unlocked the apartment. She ran in and deposited her stuff where appropriate. Mycroft finally made it up the stairs. “I’m putting the kettle on and then you’ll answer my questions.”  
Mycroft took off his coat and his suit jacket. He hung them both up and grabbed his cell phone out. He pulled the schedule up on his phone. It said 16:00-violin. That went to 17:30. The horror. It was only 15:37. Rosie returned with a tray and placed it next to her chair. She sat down in hers. “Please, Uncle Myc, come sit with me. You can sit in Papa’s chair.” She invited cordially. Mycroft sat in the appointed chair. She handed him tea (black no sugar) and took a polite sip.  
“Very nice.” Mycroft commented. “Dr Watson I presume?”  
“No.” she smiled. “Well, yes. He buys it, but I mix it.” she smiled triumphantly. “Now you owe me another answer!”  
“What were the questions?” Mycroft feigned forgetfulness.  
“1. Why do you hate my dad?”  
“I don’t know him to hate him.”  
“Again, you’re lying to me.” She said, shaking her head. “The first time was a tactic used to divert my attention and hope I’d forget. I didn’t.”  
Mycroft sighed. Sherlock be damned. His niece (well, through marriage) was asking him a question. “I have placed your fathers in dangerous situations for my own gain and they resent me for it.”  
“As they should, Uncle. 2. Why do you make then cancel said plans?”  
“Because I work for the government and my home life is-”  
“That’s almost the truth.” She cut in, knowing again about the lying.  
“Oh, for the love of everything holy!” Mycroft cried out. He had forgotten just how trying a child could be. This one that was being raised by his brother was worse.  
“You don’t believe in God.”  
“How do you know that?”  
“When you were younger, you played deductions with Papa. Now I do.” she said, concisely. “Now, the plan canceling?”  
“I cancel because I have some-” he stopped himself from saying “copulation”. She was a child, afterall. “Pressing matters.” He decided to say delicately.  
“You mean sex.” She said, sipping her tea. Mycroft blushed.  
“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”  
“Since I am not a gentleman, a kisser, or a teller, I will accept your answer. However, stop lying to me. You know who my parents are. They have equipped me well against villainy of all sorts.”  
“Who are you?” he laughed.  
“I am Rosamund Mary Watson, age 8 years, 11 months and 2 days. I am daughter of the late Mary Watson and the very much alive Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. I live at 221B Baker street and I am the number one student in my entire school. I play football and violin. I speak only five languages fluently and a smattering of 10 others.” She grinned at him. “Who are you?”  
“I’m Mycroft Holmes. I’m run the British government.”  
“Interesting. Does that job involve a lot of lying?”  
“Yes it does.” He answered.  
“Daddy says a liar never changes its stripes.”  
“Dr. Watson is a smart man.”  
“My third question, where do you store your umbrella?”  
“In an umbrella stand, no matter where your father told.”  
“I have a Daddy and a Papa. Your brother doesn’t inform me where you keep your things.” Rosie said, studying him. “Why do you hate my papa?”  
“Your papa was a difficult person before Dr. Watson. He was reckless and extremely addicted to his vices. He was clever, but lazy. He was able to pursue any field he wanted and he choose detective. Not even a real detective on a squad. Oh no, a freelance one which gave him plenty of time to get addicted-”  
“You’re a terrible man! My papa is smart. Smarter than you. He’s kind, fun, and teaches me everything he knows.”  
“Surely not everything.”  
“Everything!” Rosie assured her uncle. “My patience has run out for you.”  
“How very like my brother you are.”  
“Thank for you compliment.” She hissed through clenched teeth. She stood up and took the tea try to the kitchen. She appeared back in the living room. She nodded at Mycroft, anger still evident. “I’m going to practice my violin. You needn’t follow me.” She went upstairs.  
Mycroft laughed to himself. He felt like he was dealing with a mini Sherlock! Oh, how he loathed those battles. Mycroft set his teacup aside. He look at his phone and saw several messages from his assistant. There was only one from Sherlock.  
On the way, brother. Hope you’re behaving. SH  
It was sent 7 minutes ago. Mycroft barely had time to breathe when he heard steps on the stairs. He watched the door open and sighed with relief when he saw his brother. “Did you behave?” He said. No greeting. No polite conversation. Typical Sherlock.  
“Yes, absolutely.”  
“I heard you’ve been lying.” He said, pausing a minute to listen for violin music. “She’s wearing her headsets. Someone has not been the good boy he proclaims to be.”  
“How do you know she’s really practicing?”  
“I heard her pacing.” Sherlock smiled, knowing he did too. “Myc, what have you done to my daughter?”  
“Me?”  
“She plays aloud. My husband enjoys hearing her play.”  
“Your daughter is a very tiny you. I doubt anything I’ve said or done has had any effect on her.” He said, sounding disappointed. “I just spoke to her like the adult you are raising her to be.” He stood up, and place his cup down on the table. “Please, give my regrets to Dr. Watson. I was so looking forward to having a decent dinner conversation.”  
“You’re leaving so soon?” Sherlock grinned. “It’s been an absolute joy.” He said sarcastically.  
“The sister?” Mycroft inquired on his way out.  
“In law.” Sherlock smiled. “Thank you.” he said, softly studying his shoes.  
“Let’s not make it a habit, brother mine.” Mycroft excused himself. He ran into Dr. Watson on the stairs and made his own excuses. When John did finally appear in the doorway, Sherlock was grinning like a maniac.  
“He made it longer than I thought.” Sherlock announced, rushing over to greet John. John held the dinners from Angelos. He leaned over to kiss his husband. “Case was only a three.”  
“At least you got out.” He smiled, handing him the take away box.  
A herd of buffalo (or one 8 year old) ran down the stairs. She had ripped her suit jacket off, and her hair was a bit wild. “Fathers!” She greeted her parents. She stared them down with a deadly serious look. “Do not ever abandon me with that weirdo again.”


End file.
